


Misericorde

by Anonymous



Category: Aladdin (2019), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst, Booker did everything wrong, I have no idea what I'm doing, Kink Meme, M/M, More tags to be added, Slow Burn, but that’s why he’s interesting, please help me, stole some elements from Bloodborne, to explain stuff, two sad abandoned baguettes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:48:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26735386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: And so he tried, time after time, to find a way to repay his twin, driving himself to a point of near madness because even madness was preferred to the knowledge that he owned something to Yusuf and his new family.This was suppose to be it. Decades of having to navigate Jafar’s bouts of rage, his resentment, his anger towards his brother, his brother’s husband, their companions-- all this could have been over by now if Keane just handled this situation right.Instead, Keane screwed it up for him. Instead, he made itworse.——-Keane gets exiled from Agrabah, Booker gets exiled from his family. They end up together because neither has any other place to go.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Keane
Comments: 10
Kudos: 15
Collections: Anonymous





	Misericorde

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t written a fanfic in over 10 years, so to say I’m rusty is an understatement. Somebody help me, I have no idea what I’m doing.
> 
> Took me ages to figure out the logistic of Jafar’s powers, Keane’s survival and Agrabah’s existence until Bloodborne came to the rescue. If you know it then you understand what is happening, if you don’t, it will be explained in the further chapters, this chapter is already 89% exposition as it is.

All In all, it takes Keane only nineteen days to locate Le Livre’s Parisian hideout. He was only checking the addresses Le Livre provided Copley with to be thorough, he didn’t expect the man to actually move in under one.

He’s not happy about it – he should be, he should be happy he’s not spending weeks, months or maybe even years trying to track down a man who has means to hide literally anywhere on the planet – but his entire life has been revolving around providing security and protection and this is just sloppy. He doesn’t like sloppy. He doesn’t respect sloppy.

He deliberately avoids thinking about how finding Le Livre means having to confront him and how much safer it would have been to just spend the next decade flying from country to country, trying and failing, to locate the guy, because thinking about it conjures an image of him attempting to explain to Jafar how he couldn’t follow the simple order because he was not competent enough to find the people he was tasked with finding.

His fingers fly to his throat, unconsciously tracing the path that Jafar’s dagger took alongside his skin. He swallows audibly, then forces his fingers away. This is not what he should be focusing on now.

What he _should_ be focusing on - given how terribly his last meeting with a group of immortals went - was to find the safest way of revealing himself to Le Livre.

At least nineteen days is enough to have the bruise from Yusuf’s punch fade. For a self-declared poet and artist this guy has a killer right hook.  
  
And so, the following three days he spends waiting. He eats pre-made sandwiches he buys at a local mart, sleeps rough and watches Le Livre come and go - marching out of his flat at odd hours and them drunkenly stumbling back at even odder - trying to discern a pattern, choose the best moment to reveal himself, only to conclude at the dawn of the fourth day that: one, Le Livre has no pattern to discern and two, he’s a shameless drunkard. 

None of these things worry him as much as the fact that he’s been staking out this man’s flat for three days straight and has not been spotted.   
  
If he’s allowed to stay, the first thing he’ll do is to tweak the man’s security from what it is now to _existing_. Definitely ask him to move to safer location.

This morning Le Livre leaves his home ridiculously early- probably out of booze already - and Keane makes a decision while mournfully chewing on the last bit of his cheese sandwich. There’s no such thing as a good moment for a reveal, each option has its pros and cons and each ends in a possibility of getting shot, stabbed or (uh) getting his neck broken. The only difference is how sober or drunk the Frenchman might be when ending his life.

It’s easy (too easy which at this point is not unexpected) to pick the lock. Still, just in case, Keane ducks behind the wall after pushing the door open, always prepared for a shotgun blast to the face or a box of knives falling on top of him. Nothing like that happens. Taking a deep breath he enters LeLivre’s flat.   
  
It’s more of a bungalow than a proper flat, with the door opening to a small living area and a kitchen, with the sink right opposite of the entrance. He scans the flat, first with an expert’s eye to determine the presence of any hidden wires, pressure plates or booby traps, then in a more relaxed manner. 

The place is not cozy, it’s just on the verge of being classified as run down though not just there yet. The paint has seen better days, the pipes are undoubtedly begging to be replaced and the furniture is well used and worn out but at least, it’s not overtly filthy. The table is terribly cluttered, with jars, books and random household items stacked haphazardly on its surface and there are newspaper lying around on top of chairs and kitchen counters (who the hell reads regular newspapers these days anyway) but he expected to see a stack of dirty, mouldy plates in the sink and discarded clothes on the floor and to his amazement, there are none. That means that Le Livre can still function, his mind is capable of being organised in some manner, he can be reasoned with. That is good, that is well, he can work with that.

He gently puts the duffel bad that contains all his possessions next to the door. Le Livre will want to go through that, check for weapons— at least that’s what a reasonable person would do. Gods know what is in that man’s brain except for booze these days. Not that he was ever privy to his thoughts in the first place but one may hope that a man that has spent the last two hundred years running around with some of the oldest and well skilled warriors of The Waking World does not forget such extensive training after a couple of weeks of binge drinking. Not unless one wants to.

Keane approaches the sink, still weary of any traps, pours himself a glass and cringes when the first swig reveals that he was right about the pipes. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand in disgust, but stop himself from pouring the content of the glass out. He downs the rest in one go.

No matter. None of these things matter. He refuses to get sentimental about water. What matter is that he’s here (Paris) now (nearly three months after the Merrick Lab escape fiasco slash success) and he has to finally start following the instructions he received. And if he can’t… well, anyway, this is a punishment, and punishments, by their very definition, must punish. He’s being punished. He deserves it.

He’s about to start planning his next steps, when a distinctive sound of a glass bottle smashing on a stone surface and an even more distinctive “ _Merde_!”, reaches his ears. He tenses, listening in, until he hears an unfamiliar but characteristic sound of shuffling, drunken steps. Goddamit, it’s Le Livre, back much earlier than Keane anticipated. He must have just pop out to grab a bottle.

The man in question approaches the door on the other side, and Keane can hear the keys jiggling, then a curious pause, then nothing. The weighted silence from the other side signals to Keane he’s been found out.

He allows himself one shaky, panicked glance at the door, before his training kicks in. He has a plan and he has his orders, it doesn’t matter that he needs to start executing them now instead of in an hour or two. 

He sinks to his knees in the corner of the kitchen, his tights shaking. He’s not ashamed to admit he’s scared. He died twice in a matter of hours, then narrowly avoided true death in The Waking World soon after. It’s not the idea of death itself that scares him but the manner of it - dying in a fight, like he was bred to do, he can accept, dying as a punishment, he can understand, but on his knees, subjected to whims of some stranger, forbidden from defending himself? It puts a bad taste in his mouth that has nothing to do with the water.

Keane crosses his ankles and sits back on his shins, then puts both hands behind his head. He needs Le Livre to see him when he enters and he needs to make sure he looks the least intimidating as a man looking like him can. He hopes Le Livre has some rules against shooting unarmed men. The rest of immortals had, thankfully, even though he did collect a punch, an impressive list of curses and names in at least three languages he could identify, and enough stink eye to last him a lifetime. But no bullets. He was threatened with an axe though.

The door open rapidly but he’s prepared enough not to startle. As expected, he sees the gun before he sees the man.

“Please, don’t shoot. I’m unarmed” He keeps his voice steady and even but with just a hint of desperation colouring his words. He tells himself he put it there on purpose.  
  
Le Livre’s hand is remarkably steady for a man who managed to get himself drunk at 11am in the morning, and Keane has no doubt in his mind that if he pulls the trigger on his pistol, the bullet will end up right between his eyes.

The hair at the back of Keane’s neck are standing to attention, his muscles are tense, and his brain shouts at him, demanding of him to act now, to defend himself, to attack but Keane keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the muzzle. 

His stoicism doesn’t earn him any praises however, instead, Le Livre’s trigger finger twitches visibly when he appraises the scene in front of him. “You’re dead!” he hisses through clenched teeth, his eyes wide in shock “I saw Joe break your neck.”

Keane would rather not be reminded about that. Immortals may be used to dying and reviving constantly but that was his very first time and he still feels the twinge in his neck every time he allows his thoughts to wander. A phantom pain, he knows that, just like the memory of the dagger, but realistic enough to bother him. Instead of on it, he focuses on the gun. It’s much more of an imminent threat than a weeks old memory. 

“I survived.”

It’s a simple statement but it seems to infuriate Le Livre. “Bullshit!” He snarls “No one survives that” He enters the apartment completely, then shuts the door behind him using his foot. His eyes dart from side to side, looking for other threats but never really leaving Keane, who shrugs in reply.

  
“Except for you” he points out and immediately knows it was the wrong things to say. Le Livre’s eyes widen even further and Keane can see the realisation dawning on him.

  
“Fuck! _Merde_! Fuck! No way!” Panic tries to grip his gut, but he chases it away. He knows he needs to remain calm because a single wrong movement can set Le Livre off. He’s already teetering on the edge, drawing all the wrong conclusions. If he decides to test his theory out then Keane is toast.

“I’m not immortal.” He rushes out, trying to convey as much information as he can before Le Livre decides he’s either bored or curious and shoots him “I’m not one of you. I’m Jafar’s man. He brought me back. If you kill me now, I’m dead for real.” All of his bets - his own now mortal life - are stacked on his woefully untested ‘The Immortals Don’t Murder Unarmed Men’ theory. When the seconds pass and Le Livre doesn’t shoot, he slowly allows himself to relax. Maybe he’s not that bad of a judge of a character after all. 

Except the silence stretches, the hand doesn’t waiver, and Keane starts to consider something that he probably should have considered before he even started to seek Le Livre out. That Le Livre, the only one of the immortals - not counting the new girl - who has never met Jafar, has no fucking clue who that is. Would Yusuf really not mention his brother to this man? That would be beyond ridiculous, and given their rather patchy and, occasionally, violent history, also dangerous and reckless, and yet...

He wants to scream. “Do you know about Jafar?” He asks then inwardly sighs with relief when Le Livre nods.

  
“Joe’s literal evil twin? Yeah. Mad sorcerer, power hungry, rules an imaginary city. Real piece of work from what I’ve been told.”

  
The malignant words rattle Keane and he tenses, but bites his tongue, allows the slander to go unchallenged. There will be time to fix Le Livre’s misconceptions later, unless...

“What does he has to do with any of this.” The question, though quiet, punches the air and Keane releases the breath he didn’t even realise he’s been holding. He allows himself to relax again, lifts his gaze to meet LeLivre’s eyes.

“I’ve been his mole the entire time.” He begins to explain “Merrick was to never completed his experiments. Not in a way that mattered. If necessary, I was suppose to get you all out of there as well. You escaped but left a lot of threads hanging. Jafar brought me back so I took care of these.”

Le Livre’s head tilts to the side, like he’s considering something, like he’s not sure how to process the information. He holds Keane’s gaze and if Keane was any other man, he’d probably start to sweat by now. Finally, after another unbearably long stretch of time, he speaks “So what you are saying is” his words are slow, deliberate. Dangerous. “That even if we didn’t break out of the lab, even if Merrick and Kozak did all of their research, it would all come down to nothing because you” he spits out the word and punctuated it with his gun “would destroy them anyway?”

“I, um...” Before getting involved with The Immortals and Merrick, Keane never knew how it is to fall into a trap of your own setting. He never knew how it is to fail so spectacularly, that then only way to redeem yourself-- no, _the only way to start a journey to a possible road to a redemption somewhere in the future_ , was to die not once, but twice. He never knew how it is to fail because of your own hubris, pride and stupidity. The learning curve on this whole affair has been steep.

“Yes” He answers finally, his voice unwavering, because if this is truly the end for him, he refuses to go out like a coward. Idiot? Maybe. An architect of his own doom? Definitely. But never a coward. He shifts his gaze, looks Le Livre straight in the eye “Yes, I would. And if not me then any of the dozens of men under Jafar’s command.”

He expects a bullet. He’s ready for it. What he doesn’t expect if for Le Livre to slump backwards, like he’s about to faint. The hand holding the gun falls to his side and the only reason he’s still standing somewhat upright is because the wall behind him breaks his fall. 

It would be so easy to overpower him in this moment. Launch himself at the man with full force, topple him down, take his gun, knock him out or even kill him, then secure him before he revives. Le Livre would never see him coming, would never have a chance to react. 

Keane remains fixed in his place, drops his gaze to the ground and waits.

It’s either 10 seconds or an hour later before Le Livre finally speaks.

“Do you have any alcohol at all? I cannot process this bullshit while sober.” 

Keane releases the breath he didn’t even realise he’s been holding. He allows himself to relax, lifts his gaze to once again meet Le Livre’s eyes.

He watches as Le Livre uses his arm to wipe at them, his gun forgotten, hanging limply from his fingers.

He decides not to tempt his luck for the whateverth time today by pointing out that he’s definitely not sober. Instead, he tilts his head towards his duffel bag that has been sitting unnoticed at Le Livre’s feet. “I have half a bottle of bourbon left” he offers.

Le Livre stares at him in response. He was clearly not expecting this answer. Nonetheless he taps the bag with his foot a couple of times.

“Weapons?”

“None. Not on me, not in the bag.”

Jafar doesn’t approve of drinking alcohol other than wine in Agrabah but he never limits his men when they have missions in The Waking World. Keane’s particularly fond on bourbon and that bottle has been with him since the evening Yusuf and his ilk kicked him out from their safehouse. He’s not a heavy drinker, so he only managed to make his way halfway though it but it still pains him to watch Le Livre dig it out and chug it all in one go. It’s an expensive brand, his favourite, he’s not sure if he can get a replacement in France.

Once finished, Le Livre puts the empty bottle on the kitchen table right next to a stack of books, with a mournful sigh, then carelessly throws his gun next to it, as if it was a trashy magazine and not a lethal weapon that only a minute ago he believed to have been his only line of defence against Keane. “Why are you here then?” he asks “Came to finish the job. Get rid of the last loose thread. Make sure I won’t do any more betraying? Be my guest. I mean, if you know a way to kill me forever then please, do it. If not, just get the hell out.” 

He pulls out one of the empty kitchen chairs then throws himself gracelessly onto it, and rests his chin on the palm of his hand. The alert is gone from his eyes, they just look tired. Done. 

Keane can relate.

Even though he’s been practising this particular speech for weeks (feels like months) he feels himself stalling. Not that he believes himself to be in any mortal danger at this point, but the memory of the cold fury that met him the last time he had tried to explain his motives to the other immortals, made him pause. They did not appreciate being told that Keane was holding the keys to their freedom the entire time and yet, failed to act.

He tried to salvage this, of course, presenting his ability to hold it against them as a proof that he would be a great asset to the team, someone they could count on in a fight. After all - he reasoned - had he not only managed to take two of them at the same time but even killed one? 

His pride. His stupid pride in his own abilities. If he didn’t say that, didn’t remind Yusuf, then maybe _maybe_ they would have considered allowing him to stay. But even though he was still licking his wounds for having been temporarily exiled from The Dream, even though Jafar had had told him in no uncertain terms only weeks prior what a behemotian disappointment he was, he had to listen to his ego. He had to brag.

And so, Yusuf punched him, Andromache gave him thirty second to leave the safehouse before she’d lodge her axe in his skull and they all shouted curses after him, as he was leaving. Nicolò said nothing, did nothing, just looked at his with a mix of sadness and contemplation, and the more Keane thought back to this moment in the weeks that followed, the more he felt like this was the worst insult of all. 

Pride won’t work here, and he doubted Le Livre would find it in him to pity anyone else but himself. Raw truth has to be it, then.

“I fucked up at Merrick’s” He doesn’t feel like explaining it further than that, allows Le Livre to draw his own conclusions. In reality his errors were numerous, set up like dominoes toppling one another, until the whole floor was covered with white tiles and dead bodies. Looking back at his behaviour now is like recalling a bad action film, one that makes you want to throw stuff at the tv, and complain loudly about terribly written characters and plot holes. 

When Le Livre doesn’t prode him for details, he continues “Jafar doesn’t tolerate even the smallest mistakes, let alone big ones. He was merciful though, and just, and allowed me to go back into the Waking World to fix my mistakes, and to make amends to Yusuf and the rest of your kind.”

“I won’t even try to decipher what you’ve just said” Le Livre’s tone is casual and he taps his upper lip with one of his fingers, like he’s bored of this conversation but his eyes betray him. He’s too easy to read; he’s upset “I’ve got some bad news for you, you’re pissing on the wrong tree. I got kicked out, I’m not...” he closes his eyes, then brings the tips of his finger to his forehead, resting his head on them, lets a shaky breath pass through his lips. “I’m not with them anymore.” 

Keane is aware. It wounds him, having to submit himself to a man who is a traitor to his own kind, because he’d rather die a thousand agonizing deaths and suffer a millennium of torment than even considered betraying Agrabah or Jafar, no matter the reasons. He can understand, even respect Copley and Merrick, and their pursuit of power, acclaim and knowledge. 

He will never understand Le Livre.  
  
“I know” He doesn’t mean it to come out this harshly but either Le Livre doesn’t care about his judgment or doesn’t notice it because it earns him no reaction. Hopeful, he continues “I found them, offered my services but they didn’t need them. Told me to get out, never bother them again, that they didn’t need someone like me at their back” 

Le Livre huffs humourlessly, then makes a face at him, which Keane easily translates into a “no shit”. At least he doesn’t look like he’s on a verge of tears anymore. Keane can admit to himself that he prefers that.

“Then, once again, I ask what are you doing _here_. From the top.”

Keane feels the weight of his gaze on him. “Jafar honours his debts and saving you from Merrick was suppose to be a repayment of an old favour.” In reality, Jafar has deeply resented owning Yusuf anything and the rescue was suppose to finally free him of this maddening debt that weighted on his mind for over three centuries. Keane knew the toll this debt has imprinted on his master because he spent more than one guard duty listening to Jafar spewing the names of the immortals like they were curses, spitting them out as if it was poison in his mouth.

Yusuf had told his brother once that no debt was owned and that infuriated Jafar even further. To owe someone was a disgrace, to be told it didn’t matter? An insult.

And so he tried, time after time, to find a way to repay his twin, driving himself to a point of near madness because even madness was preferred to the knowledge that he owned something to Yusuf and his new family.

This was suppose to be it. Decades of having to navigate Jafar’s bouts of rage, his resentment, his anger towards his brother, his brother’s husband, their companions-- all this could have been over by now if Keane just handled this situation right.

Instead, Keane screwed it up for him. Instead, he made it _worse_.

Despite what he said earlier, Jafar is not merciful, his enemies pay dearly, allies who fail him even dearer, and by all intents and purposes Keane should be dead (if lucky) or at the bottom of some dungeon, getting personally acquainted with Agrabah’s chief torturer. This? Unpleasant and humiliating as it is, it’s not even close to the punishments he’s seen Jafar inflict on those who wronged him.

He doesn’t feel like sharing this bit with Le Livre.

“When I failed to help you out, when you saved yourselves, Jafar decided I needed to make amends, personally, for my involvement in your imprisonment. Since Yusuf didn’t want me, I came here. You are the only immortal left that I can pledge my services to.”

“I was responsible for this whole mess in the first place. If he’s angry with you, how angry he has to be with me? I’m the one to stabbed them all in the back.” His tone is matter-of-fact but it’s really easy to hear the self-loathing lurking under the surface.

Keane snorts in reply. “Jafar doesn’t care you plotted against Yusuf! He found it amusing. The irony of Yusuf being betrayed by the one he considered a true brother after betraying his blood brother...” 

Le Livre gawks at him. Stares. While only a minute ago Keane felt like he could read this man like a book, this look is blank, impenetrable. 

“How did Joe betray Jafar?” 

It's not the question he was expecting. It's not a secret but he still considers his answer carefully. He feels like he stepped into something - again - but he doesn’t know what it is, which direction to go to, to get to safety.

“He was bestowed a gift of immortality when it was denied to Jafar. That is… unforgivable.”

Le Livre shakes his head, the loose hair falling on his face. It’s the most animated Keane has seen him since he sat down “It’s not a gift,” the sentence comes out harsh, final “it’s a curse”

“How he wishes Yusuf felt that way.”

Le Livre stands up so abruptly, the chair falling behind him. With a swiftness that surprises Keane he grabs his gun from the table, accidentally toppling the empty bottle in the process, and aims it straight at Keane’s head.

Keane’s whole body goes rigid but once again, he forces himself to stay still. He clenches his jaw, waits for the inevitable. 

The bottle crashes onto the ground, breaking, sending the shards of glass flying everywhere. Le Livre swears.

“Jesus. Fuck!”

Le Livre lowers the gun but his eyes never leave Keane. Keane wonders if it’s because he’s still considered a threat or because he’s still contemplating shooting him after all but he does nothing, turns around and retreats to what Keane has to assume is the bedroom.

The conversation is over.

Keane stays in his spot for a longest minute and when it becomes clear that Le Livre is not going to re-emerge any time soon, only then he allows himself to relax, allows his hands to fall to his sides.

He collects himself from the floor, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated but he doesn’t correct himself, feeling like he’s earned this one moment of weakness. He’s exhausted.

Slowly, he looks around. On the surface, everything looks the same as it’s has 10 minutes prior but it _feels_ different. He doesn’t know how to process what has just happened. He’s been unmoored for months, tossed from dock to dock, hoping for a shore if not a safe heaven but now that he’s found it... he just…

Jesus fuck indeed. 

_What now?_

**Author's Note:**

> the kink meme prompt:
> 
> _Based entirely on the fact that Keane Guy was in Aladdin playing Jafar’s servant._
> 
> _Jafar sends Keane to keep an eye on Merric and make sure no true harm comes to his brother Joe. Keane infiltrates Merric’s security forces, but then fucks up monumentally, watches Joe get tortured, shoots Nicky and pisses Jafar off with his ineptitude. Yes he was told to keep an eye on Merric but godDAMNIT. Jafar exiles him and orders him to serve the immortals for ten years as an atonement, but of course, none of them want Keane near._
> 
> _Keane has only one option left: find Booker, also an immortal, serve him, and survive this decade, somehow._
> 
> _Sex can and should be involved but if you just want two sad guys pining after what’s been and what they had that’s fine too. They do find consolation in their relationship tho, even if it’s just platonic friendship._


End file.
